Complications
by kelmeister
Summary: Immediately post-"The Limey." Kate accepts the offer of a drink from Colin Hunt. Kate/Colin/Rick


They've been at the bar for over two hours. The conversation is light and easy: he shares his cases, she shares hers. One celebrity-infused story out of London to try to top a celebrity-fueled story out of New York. She talks him into a Manhattan (a "horrible, horrible drink," he laughs). He insists the bartender allow him to "properly demonstrate the only true way" of pouring a Black and Tan.

They sit across from each other at a table near the back of the bar. She's wrapped in the warmth of his smooth butterscotch accent. It helps that he looks like a British Thor. It's fun. It's relaxed and there's no pressure or weird looks or tension.

And yet, her mind is miles away, driving down Broadway with the top down, glittering neon and strobe lights glinting off a cherry red paint job and haunted blue eyes.

"…and so not two hours after she accepts a BAFTA, they bring her in for solicitation," he laughs, his smile so inviting. She tries to mirror his mirth. She wonders if his deductive skills are such that he can tell her heart's not in it. She glances down at her glass, running a slim finger along the rim, watching the condensation slide down the sides. There's a long pause. It takes her longer to notice.

"Kate," he says softly. Again, louder. She startles. He chuckles. "Where were you just now?"

She tries to smile. "I—Nothing." She shakes her head, looks him in the eye. "Colin, if I didn't say so earlier…because of the case. I'm sorry. About Naomi."

He holds her gaze. "You didn't, but thank you." He reaches out, places his large, warm hand lightly over her smaller one. "It means everything that you worked so hard to help me find out what happened. You put yourself on the line—"

Kate shrugs. "I got to wear a beautiful dress and get kicked out of the British Consulate."

Colin chuckles. "That, too."

Kate becomes quiet. "I know how it is to lose people you love to violence."

Colin nods. "It's part of the job."

Kate shakes her head. "Not always." She cringes, pulls her hand from his and takes a sip of her beer.

Colin raises an eyebrow, studying her. She feels herself blush under his intense gaze. "So, if you don't mind my asking?"

"You're going to ask even if I say I do."

"I would be shaming Scotland Yard if I didn't."

She laughs at this. "Alright, what?"

"What is going on with Rick?"

She startles again. He's a fast learner, getting under her skin. "I don't know what you mean."

He chuckles. "Yes, you do. I saw the way you deferred to him at the station, when I first asked you for a drink."

"I didn't 'defer' to him."

"But there's something there."

"It's com—"

_She is fun and uncomplicated. I think that's what my life needs right now._

Kate sighs. "I don't know."

"What's his story? Famous writer, hanging about."

"He shadows me. For research."

"He wasn't shadowing much."

"Well, it's com—" No. Not complicated. Confusing. Confounding. Crippling. But not complicated.

Colin's voice is low. "You were hoping you'd be with him tonight."

"No," Kate says sadly. "That—" She pushes her beer away. "It's too late."

Colin takes her hand in his again. He rubs his thumb over her skin, the motion meant to be soothing, but it reminds her of another time, another intimacy, the memory painful. She frowns, suddenly needing to run. Instead, she watches his thumb trace circles, rough and calloused (like her hands) in a way different from Castle's.

"Kate, if there's one thing I know, especially after this—after what happened to Naomi—it's that it can never be too late." He gently places his other hand under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. "Naomi, she proved to be a scrapper. She fought hard for what she knew to be true. And she was right."

Kate feels a tear former in the corner of her eye. "She lost her boyfriend."

"She still fought for him." Colin wipes away the tear that's fallen down Kate's cheek. "She did what needed to be done. She found strength beyond what I knew she had in her." Colin's hands fall away. "I've known you only a short time, Kate, but I'd bet my life that you have that strength, too."

Kate's breath catches. She gives him a slight smile. "If Scotland Yard ever decides to let you go, you've got a career in psychotherapy to fall back on."

Colin returns her smile. He waves over their waitress, reaching into his pocket and removing his wallet. He pulls out some bills and throws them on the table. "Come on, I'll see you home."

The night air outside is surprisingly chilly. Colin waves down a cab. Kate touches his arm.

"I'm going to find my own way home," she says gently.

Colin frowns, his forehead creasing as he looks her over. "Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine," she says. She glazes into his eyes. He's concerned. Worried. So handsome. So brave and honest and…

If only, she thinks.

Her heart is somewhere else.

She touches Colin's cheek. Then her lips lightly mark the warm spot her hand has left behind. "It was a pleasure working with you, Detective Inspector Colin Hunt."

Colin smiles gently. "The pleasure was all mine, Detective Kate Beckett."

He opens the door of the waiting cab, turning to glance at her one last time. "Until we meet again."

Kate nods and smiles. As she watches, Colin folds his large body into the cab and slams the door. As she watches, the bright red tail lights grow smaller as the cab speeds down the street, finally disappearing as the cab turns a corner.

Kate sighs. She takes a deep breath, standing straighter. She finds the strength within her.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.

xxxxxxxxxx

Rick sits in bed, wearing nothing but an angry expression. The sweat on his back has long since dried, gluing him to the leather headboard. He desperately wants to rip himself off, violently throw himself forward and relish the burn on his skin, but to do so would produce a loud tearing sound that would wake the lightly snoring Jacinda beside him. What the hell is this? How did this happen? And why is he so angry? At Kate, at himself, even at Jacinda, damn it, with her perky blonde hair and perky breasts and perky sexual appetite. His hands worry at the edge of the sheet that covers him.

Damn it.

"Kate," he whispers.

It is as if his utterance is an incantation summoning a beast from the depths of Hell to torment him. The phone on his nightstand vibrates. He checks the screen.

"Kate," he whispers.

He turns the phone off.


End file.
